Alright, let's try a morning post, since I need some sort of exercise to extricate me from the womb-like oblivion of sleep.
Things are well in Belgium. I am somehow entering a new "ethical" phase wherein I floss every night, go to the gym, go to bed at 11, get up at 8 and clean my room whenever it's dirty. I spend about 10 hours a day working, though of course that's never enough, and I'm beginning to think that perhaps, at some point, I can stop spinning my wheels and actually get some traction in what is certainly not mud, but maybe something like dirty ice.
I am learning that, up until this point, I have been operating on a "gut" level. It's only luck that has gotten me this far, and perhaps a bit of talent, but it has become painfully evident that such a haphazard approach (totally lacking in concrete method) is completely inadequate for my present circumstances. That certainly doesn't mean that I am in the midst of concretizing some kind of method, but at least I am compensating for the fact that such a lack requires a great deal of time in order to accomplish the same effect.
This all has something to do with the fact that it takes a great deal of repetition in order for something to emerge as an actual "production." Which of course relates to my thesis, though I am as yet undecided whether what is necessary is the kind of divine intervention that a religious thinker would advocate, or if in some sense I just need a real, human (perhaps trained) interlocutor. The benefits of analysis are certainly something I have advocated in the past, but somehow I haven't gotten off my ass to find a therapist here. I settle for good conversations with friends, a proliferation of writing and self-analysis that may only be miring me deeper in my spinning self-involvement. If you can make any sense of it, I think the Lacanian diagram below expresses something of what I'm talking about. I made it in paint, so please ignore the fact that it looks like a vagina. That particular entendre was imposed on me by the crapiness of the program.
In the world outside, I am delighted that Dom and Phoebe are coming for my Easter break, which necessitates a much needed renovation of my room setup. I have ideas that I think will be pure genius as long as my sense of measurement does not turn out to be wildly imprecise. What this also means is that I have to get a rough draft of my thesis in by then, which is going to be a hard crush, but I'm working steadily and I haven't yet despaired of the possibility.
I've also taken up a crafty hobby, which I learned from my Grandma Susie (whom I will have to call very soon for help). I'm doing a very fine cross-stitch rose on an off-white background. It's hard and meticulous work, but I get to wear my glasses and listen to NPR and feel a little retired. It's also an activity that I can do to stay within these four walls and be content, taking down time that doesn't involve money or several hours. I've drastically reduced my socialization, so being able to be alone and challenged is very important for my mental health.
At any rate, it's time to get ready for class. Monday is my big day, I have two classes spanning 11am to 5pm, which is really not that bad, but I'm pretty burned out by the end. Tonight I re-read the Husserl that Prof. Bernet has assigned us. We're doing Husserl and Heidegger on the body, which promises to be very instructive despite the fact that our class is at 9am on Tuesdays and held in the coldest, most uncomfortable (but prettiest) lecture hall of the Institute.
Ta ta for now,
Ashley
Things are well in Belgium. I am somehow entering a new "ethical" phase wherein I floss every night, go to the gym, go to bed at 11, get up at 8 and clean my room whenever it's dirty. I spend about 10 hours a day working, though of course that's never enough, and I'm beginning to think that perhaps, at some point, I can stop spinning my wheels and actually get some traction in what is certainly not mud, but maybe something like dirty ice.
I am learning that, up until this point, I have been operating on a "gut" level. It's only luck that has gotten me this far, and perhaps a bit of talent, but it has become painfully evident that such a haphazard approach (totally lacking in concrete method) is completely inadequate for my present circumstances. That certainly doesn't mean that I am in the midst of concretizing some kind of method, but at least I am compensating for the fact that such a lack requires a great deal of time in order to accomplish the same effect.
This all has something to do with the fact that it takes a great deal of repetition in order for something to emerge as an actual "production." Which of course relates to my thesis, though I am as yet undecided whether what is necessary is the kind of divine intervention that a religious thinker would advocate, or if in some sense I just need a real, human (perhaps trained) interlocutor. The benefits of analysis are certainly something I have advocated in the past, but somehow I haven't gotten off my ass to find a therapist here. I settle for good conversations with friends, a proliferation of writing and self-analysis that may only be miring me deeper in my spinning self-involvement. If you can make any sense of it, I think the Lacanian diagram below expresses something of what I'm talking about. I made it in paint, so please ignore the fact that it looks like a vagina. That particular entendre was imposed on me by the crapiness of the program.
In the world outside, I am delighted that Dom and Phoebe are coming for my Easter break, which necessitates a much needed renovation of my room setup. I have ideas that I think will be pure genius as long as my sense of measurement does not turn out to be wildly imprecise. What this also means is that I have to get a rough draft of my thesis in by then, which is going to be a hard crush, but I'm working steadily and I haven't yet despaired of the possibility.
I've also taken up a crafty hobby, which I learned from my Grandma Susie (whom I will have to call very soon for help). I'm doing a very fine cross-stitch rose on an off-white background. It's hard and meticulous work, but I get to wear my glasses and listen to NPR and feel a little retired. It's also an activity that I can do to stay within these four walls and be content, taking down time that doesn't involve money or several hours. I've drastically reduced my socialization, so being able to be alone and challenged is very important for my mental health.
At any rate, it's time to get ready for class. Monday is my big day, I have two classes spanning 11am to 5pm, which is really not that bad, but I'm pretty burned out by the end. Tonight I re-read the Husserl that Prof. Bernet has assigned us. We're doing Husserl and Heidegger on the body, which promises to be very instructive despite the fact that our class is at 9am on Tuesdays and held in the coldest, most uncomfortable (but prettiest) lecture hall of the Institute.
Ta ta for now,
Ashley
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